Year of the Horse
by Elizabeth Ford 2
Summary: The Weasley twins' first year at school. Hogwarts would never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

A small crowd of eleven-year-olds tumbled from the carriages onto the shores of Hogwarts' Great Lake.

In the darkening twilight, the water was black with pinpricks of light scattered across the surface. Small waves splashed gently against the banks.

"All righ'," called the bushy-haired giant. "Inter the boats now. Three to a boat!"

A short black boy held a boat steady while Fred and George clambered in, then leaped in himself, landing easily on the front bench.

"Been on boats half my life," he said cheerfully. "I'm Lee Jordan. My dad's a fisherman, in Brighton. Couldn't fall out of a boat if I tried," he finished with a grin.

Fred and George looked at each other, then turned back, smiling identical friendly smiles.

"I'm Fred," said Fred.

"And I'm Percy," said George.

"Pleaased to meet you," they said together.

Lee grinned. "I've never met twins before. Don't think I could tell the two of you apart. Are you both _exactly_ the same?" he asked, as the boats began to skim across the lake.

"Well, we're not _exactly_ the same," said Fred.

"Percy here's a bit of a troublemaker. He's good for a laugh, but he just takes it too far sometimes," Fred informed him as George coughed harshly. "You shouldn't really get mixed up with him. I prefer academic pursuits, myself." He raised his head slightly. George coughed again.

"My brother went to Cambridge to study," said Lee. "Came back a right snob."

"Cambridge?" Fred asked, as George exclaimed, "Oh, are your family _Muggles_? We've never met Muggles before."

"Is it true that you plug yourself into the eckeltricity at night, to eat?"

Lee gaped at them, apparently unable to speak. Fred nudged his brother.

"Doesn't know how he eats! How stupid is that?"

"Keep yer hands in the boat!" Hagrid yelled. "Oy, you, that means you – I've got my eyes on you! Plenty o' creatures in this lake that'd like a few fingers fer a tasty supper!"

The offender pulled her hands back out of the water. She was a chubby blonde girl with red ribbons sewn into the neckline of her robes. She called, "Is it true there's a giant squid in there?"

"Bigger'n all these boats put together."

"Would it really eat a person?" whispered Lee Jordan, forgetting the twins' jabs. "A whole person, not just bits?"

"Sure," said Fred easily. "It sucks you up, and squirts mucus on you – acid mucus, you know, to dissolve all your bones. Then it takes a whole hour to eat you."

"You're most likely dead by then," George reassured him.

Lee scrunched up his face. "I don't believe you."

"Cleverer than he looks, eh Fred?" said George.

"Mind you, we don't know either."

"One way to find out, though."

Fred and George balanced carefully on their seats, and threw themselves at Lee.

The last thing the three boys heard before hitting the water was Hagrid's voice, roaring, "WEASLEY!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Great Hall was _huge_, George thought, standing on one leg and rubbing his foot on the other. Even Charlie's tales hadn't prepared him for it. Carved wooden pillars throughout the Hall held up the sky. A few stars peeked out, but clouds had rolled in while they'd waited in the Entrance Hall. George gave a sudden violent shiver, and bounced a little on his toes, trying to get warmer. Hagrid had let the three of them share his huge coat for the rest of the boat trip, but he'd taken it back before they'd been allowed inside.

At the back of the Hall was a raised platform, where a long row of teachers were seated formally along a long table, most in traditional University robes. Beside him, Fred was methodically sizing them up, but George was busy being unexpectedly nervous. Of course they knew what the Sorting was – they'd got it out of Percy the first day he came home – but in front of everyone, as soon as they arrived? He hadn't thought of that. At least Fred would go first.

"Patsy, Norman!"

Oh, hell, they were nearly at Weasley. A wriggle in his pocket reminded George of what they'd taken from the pockets of Hagrid's coat. A wet nose twitched and nudged his palm.

"Stimpson, Patricia!"

Sharp teeth bit into a finger. George yelped, and pulled his hand from his pocket.

He felt little claws scrabble down his leg.

Oh, _shit_. They hadn't intended to let the mice loose during the Sorting.

The mouse landed on George's foot and froze. If it stayed there, then maybe he could get back. He bent down slowly, hand outstretched. The mouse took off.

Over George's foot – over Kenneth Towles' feet, who dropped the Sorting Hat – _into_ the Hat – out and straight for the Slytherin table. The younger students shrieked and lifted their legs up. The older students laughed – until it climbed up a leg, onto the table, and began racing along the plates. Some fell onto the floor in an attempt to put some distance between themselves and the mouse.

People from other houses were laughting and hooting. Several had climbed onto the benches to get a better look.

SHWOOP! Suddenly, the mouse flew through the air, back along the table, past the remaining first-years, who ducked, and into Professor McGonagall's hand. She pointed her wand, turned it calmly into a blue teapot, and levitated it across to the staff table.

"Mister Towles, if we could _possibly _get on with the Sorting?" she said, frostily.

Kenneth Towles picked up the Hat and fumbled it awkwardly, prompting a snigger from Fred. George stood on his foot hurriedly, not wanting any more attention. He had a fair idea that McGonagall knew who had let that mouse loose.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Fred!"

Fred affected a swagger as he walked to the Hat. He sat down, crossed his legs daintily, and placed the Hat firmly on his head.

A cold shiver ran through George. What if they ended up in different Houses? He and Fred were exactly the same, but – it could happen. What if it split them up? What if it was like Mum, who was always harping on about developing different personalities, or it thought they would be too much trouble together?

Well, they wouldn't stand for it. They'd petition Dumbledore. Or just leave. They'd waited for Hogwarts all their lives, but some things just weren't worth it.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

George clapped weakly.

"Weasley, George!"

Fred was balancing one goblet on top of another, barely glancing up, but George knew his twin was worried. He wasn't showing it. Well, neither would George. He strode confidently to the chair and the Hat, legs shaking too much to copy Fred's swagger.

"So," said the Hat. "Weasley twins. The last pair I sorted was a long time ago. Tony and Cybele Weasley. One for Gryffindor, one for Slytherin. And where would you prefer to be placed?"

"Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor, Gryffindor...Yes, you'd suit Gryffindor. But why do you really want to go there? Because you embody the traits of Godric Gryffindor? Or because that's where I placed your twin?"

"Gryffindor," George repeated. This Hat was sly. It had probably been made by a Slytherin. He wasn't going to let it weasel anything out of him.

"Cybele was furious, you know. Packed her bags and demanded to go home. But she would have been unhappy in Gryffindor."

Which was obviously not the case with him. The Hat had already said that he'd be happy in Gryffindor.

"Oh, you'd be perfectly happy in Gryffindor. Or Hufflepuff. Despite what you think, you _are_ different from your brother. Twins are never exactly alike."

"Not by much! And how do you know what I think? I wasn't even thinking it."

The Hat didn't reply.

"Are you trying to _change_ me? Into some weak-willed, do-gooded Hufflepuff? I think you've got head lice. They've addled whatever you've got for brains. If you think I'd be happy in Gryffindor, then put me there, you mouldy excuse for a Hat!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"


	3. Chapter 3

"There, down those stairs!"

"No, that's not right. We turned left after the stone steps last night, I remember. And there was a really creepy painting."

"We must have gone the wrong way at those swords."

"Which way did we come before that?"

"Up that little staircase. So we turn – "

"We don't turn, we carry on past it."

"Ten minutes to Charms, people."

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory had been woken at dawn by a loud jangling noise, which turned out to be Lee Jordan's alarm clock. After roundly abusing their housemate, the other boys went back to sleep, not rousing until half an hour before their first class. Now they wished they had followed his example and gone down early to allow time for getting lost.

"Ask a portrait," said Kenneth, as they reached another unfamiliar corridor. "I bet they know this castle backwards."

"Seeing as they'd need two hundred years for that, I'm not surprised," sniped Fred. "But they won't know which classroom is which if they're that old. I don't fancy another wild-Snorkack chase."

"Never mind the classrooms," said George, "we just need to get to the Great Hall. Didn't Percy say the Charms room was on the ground floor?"

"'Cos the teacher's short, I remember," Fred agreed. "Hey, lady, where's the Great Hall?"

"Mind your tongue, young man," said the black-bonneted woman. She wore a stiff dress that bulged beneath her waist. "Didn't your mother teach you to speak respectfully to your elders?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, my brother is rather impolite," said George, bowing slightly and elbowing Fred to the side. "I'm afraid we are lost and we will be late for lessons if we do not hurry. Would you pray to tell us the way to the Great Hall?"

"Why, of course. Proceed down the short staircase, turn left, and follow the suits of armour until you reach a long golden staircase. From there, it is best you ask for more directions. I've never known a redhead with a good memory."

George spluttered.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Kenneth. "Come _on_, you two. Never mind the stupid painting!"

W* W* W* W* W* W* W* W* W* W* W* W*W

Charlie's description of "short" was an understatement. The Charms professor didn't even reach Fred's shoulder, and had to stand on his desk to address the class. Fred wondered briefly if he had lent some of his height to Hagrid and forgotten to get it back.

"Good morning, class, and welcome to Hogwarts!" exclaimed Professor Flitwick. "Now, I know you're all very eager to learn some magic, but you will need to learn the proper wand movements first."

"Boring," George mumbled.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, your parents will have taught you already?"

"My mother."

"I find it best for everyone to learn together, so we're all at the same level. We can also correct any bad habits. Mr. Davies, if you could hand these out, please..."

Fred turned a furious face towards his brother. "Mum was a brilliant teacher! He can't say stuff like that!" His hands clenched into fists.

"Calm down!" George grabbed his shoulder. "How's he supposed to know that?"

"You're letting him insult Mum?"

"I wouldn't if he was! But he's never seen her teach, you silly!"

"Oi!" Roger Davies shook the box he was holding at them. "Stop your arguing and take one." He tossed them each a wooden stick.

"Why can't we use our wands, Mr. Flitwick?" asked one of the Ravenclaw girls.

"A wand is used to focus a wizard's magic to achieve controlled results, Miss Lennox. You will no doubt have experienced accidental magic?" She nodded. "Accidental magic is by its very nature unpredictable and unfocused. We are not going to cast any spells today, but since none of you have any experience with a wand, it is possible that you may direct some magic through it by mistake.We are using fake wands today to avoid any accidents."

"But isn't it just the same? They're both just pieces of wood. What's the difference?"

"What is the core of your wand, Miss Lennox?"

"Unicorn hair," the girl replied. "Oh! It's not the wood at all, then!"

"Not quite. The wood does have slight magical properties. But the core – the unicorn hair in your case – allows the magic to flow _through_ the wand."

"So – they have to work together, you mean?"

"That's right. Now, if you will put your wands away, Messrs Weasley, and use what I have given you, we will begin. This is the basic down-stroke, and comes from the elbow..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, food!"

"Merlin, I'm starving," groaned Fred, swiping a sandwich from the Ravenclaw table as they headed over the to Gryffindors. The long tables were packed with students talking loudly and shoving to get at the food. The Great Hall was filled with gorgeous smells.

"No Mum to say mind your manners!" George slid half a pie onto his plate.

"What manners?" snickered his twin. George opened his mouth to reply, and a piece of pastry fell out. "Yes, exactly."

There seemed to be no end to the food. Plates of steaming chicken drizzled in gravy; crisp salads; bowls of soup wafting tasty scents; little bowls of strawberries; all manner of pies; piles of bread and butter; and lashings of pumpkin juice.

A throat cleared behind them. George cringed and turned around. "Hello, Percy."

"Hello, Fred and George. I'm glad you found your way all right. I waited for you before breakfast but you must have slept in."

"We got lost," said Fred. "You might have woken us up."

"We had to ask the paintings where to go."

"That's the best thing to do when you're lost. Do you like your classes? What have you had so far?"

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic."

"DADA is a very important class. I hope you take that one seriously, at least. You never know what might be out there."

"My mum says there's still Death Eaters running around from the last war," Alicia chimed in.

"That's right. It's good to see you've made friends already," said Percy. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Are you going to introduce me?"

"Um, Patricia and Alicia. And this is Percy."

"Very pleased to meet you," Percy said politely, nodding jerkily. "I think I see more of your housemates coming now, so I'll leave you – "

"Hey, _Percy_," said Lee, poking George in the back of the head. "Give us some pie, you pig."

Percy looked suspicious. "Have you two been causing trouble?"

"Nope."

"Not yet," said Fred truthfully. Convincing the DADA professors that they were Belgian didn't really count as trouble.

"Hm. Well, I'll see you again at tea."

George slid down in his seat. "Great. We've got a bloody minder."

"I think you're lucky, having an older brother," said Patricia. "'Specially one who's helpful."

"Mum probably put him onto us. I'd rather have Charlie."

"I think blackmail is in order."

"Indeed it is, Frederik."

"You two are mean," Patricia scolded.

"We're not mean. We'll only tell his secrets if he keeps bothering us."

"And he won't."

"Exactly."

"Right stroke, left stroke," Lee recited around a mouthful of pasta. "Right sweep, left sweep. What's the point of it, though? Isn't it the words that matter?"

"If you don't do the right movements, the spell won't go right," a second-year girl told him. "Pass the potatoes, please."

"Why, though?"

"It's magic," Patricia shrugged. "It doesn't _have_ a reason."

"It does sometimes, I think," said Fred. "When Mum does that cleaning spell – _Scourgify_ – she uses a secondary right sweep – " He demonstrated, hitting Alicia in the head. "She sort of puts a _dig_ into it if she's cleaning something really dirty."

"Like she's getting the dirt out, only the spell's doing it. So she's telling the spell to work harder, by moving her arm differently."

"How do you _know_ all this stuff?" Patricia moaned. "I'll never catch up. It's not fair."

"Eh, it's easy stuff. Won't take you long," said George.

"What's the spell called again?" asked Lee.

"_Scourgify_."

Lee pulled his wand from his robes and swept it out dramatically. "_Scourgify!_"

The tablecloth jerked sideways, knocking over the goblets. Patricia yelped as her plate jumped, splattering her with gravy. Pumpkin juice dripped from the table onto the floor.

"First-years," muttered the second-year disdainfully, as she aimed a successful cleaning spell at her sleeve.

Lee grinned broadly. "I did _magic_!"


	5. Chapter 5

As they descended the stairs to the dungeons, the air became noticeably colder. The class huddled nervously together outside the stone door, nudging one another to go forward.

"Oh, this is stupid," snapped Lee, shoving at the door. "What's there to be scared of, anyhow?"

A tall, black-robed figure appeared silently in the doorway. Lee gasped, jumping back. The man stepped to the side and motioned them in.

Weird shadows darted across the dimly-lit room. Jars of pickled animals lined the walls, suspended in midair and bobbing a little. The low ceiling gave an uncomfortable feeling of being trapped. The students trickled quietly to their seats.

"As the years move onwards and the wizarding world turns Muggle-like in its preference for flash and show, the subtle art of potion-making may seem to become irrelevant. Those who enter these halls for the first time will be entranced by the waving of wands, the thrill of spoken words becoming reality. But do not be blinded by what is quick and simple. Nearly everything of import that is done with a wand, can be done with a potion.

"_Episkey_ mends a broken arm in seconds, but all but the most gifted Healers will leave a slight weakness in the bone; a Bone-Setting potion, though it works slowly, will not. _Lumos_ creates a narrow beam of light, but a Luminous Potion provides a steady, wider light source.

"Hexes and curses will take down an enemy, but poison will ensure that he does not enter the fray at all. Or if you wish, charm it with a time-delay, to slow his reflexes minutes into the fight.

"Those of you who are...averse to hard work will never grasp a true understanding of Potions, and will drop the subject after OWLS. But who the few who remain – there is a whole world of possibilities open to you."

George raised his eyebrows and nudged his brother. This sounded interesting.

"The potion you will make today has a basic medicinal base and is used to cure boils," Professor Snape continued. "The instructions," he waved his wand, "are on the board. Your are to work in pairs. Begin."

The coals sizzled briefly and then sprang into flames.

George hefted the large jar of snake oil and poured it into the cauldron. "He didn't use his wand. What other ways are there of starting a fire?"

"There's those mat things Mum buys. You know, for the Winter Festival."

"For every class? Too expensive. Same for fire salts, or anything."

"Could be a potion. I bet he's showing off."

"What, a fire-starting one?"

"I reckon. We'll ask him after class. Is it warm yet?"

Fred held his palm over the cauldron. "Can't feel anything. Crush the nettles, will you?"

Heat from the fires began to warm the classroom. Professor Snape stood in front of his desk, leaning slightly away from the students. His eyes flickered from cauldron to cauldron, mouth twisting into a grimace as he looked at a pair of Hufflepuff girls.

In the front row, Eugen Stenshorne was arguing with his sister over whether their potion had settled or not. Lee Jordan squinted at his, trying to figure out the exact shade of green. Alicia had burned herself checking the temperature, and had her finger in a jar of mare's milk, as it was the coldest thing she could find.

Kenneth raised his hand. "Um, Professor? It doesn't look right?"

Professor Snape peered into the cauldron, which was shaking alarmingly. Patricia shuffled to the edge of her seat. The professor stalked over to Alicia to confiscate the milk. "If you continue to mix up clockwise and anti-clockwise, Towler, you must expect less than satisfactory results."

Kenneth stared blankly after him, until his partner grabbed the mixing stick and stirred it vigorously clockwise. The potion made a horrible burping noise and settled. Seconds later, a smell of rotten eggs and burnt sugar filled the classroom. Several students groaned.

"Quiet!" snapped Professor Snape. "Towler, five points from Gryffindor."

George tipped five slugs into a bowl of water and hung it over the fire. "I wonder why it had to be _live_ ones. I mean, dead ones are made of the same stuff."

Fred smirked. "I wish I could see Mum's face when she gets my letter. _Dear Mum, the Potions teacher says it's okay to torture animals, so you can't stop me anymore. Love, Fred._"

George stared at him. _"Torture animals?"_

"I'm just joking, silly. Slugs don't matter; it's not like we're torturing kneazles. Can't you take a joke?"

George turned away to check the slugs. Was this what the Hat had meant when it'd said he should be in Hufflepuff? _Was_ he one of those pious morons who ran around in circles trying not to offend anyone? _Can't you take a joke?_

The slugs were ready. He scooped out a ladle-full of the liquid and poured it into the cauldron.

"You idiot! You were supposed to wait until it was back on the flame!"

He shoved the cauldron forward, a tight feeling in his throat. Merlin, was he going to _cry_ in the middle of a class? He really didn't belong in Gryffindor. He leaned over the cauldron, letting the heat burn his face as he stirred. The mixture bubbled and splashed.

A hand grasped his shoulder and yanked him back. The professor's face leaned close to him. "Weasley, I would prefer not to spoil my first day by the necessity of sending a brainless first-year to the hospital wing. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," George muttered sullenly. Fred waited until Snape had left and nudged his twin.

"Ugly old bat. You should have shoved him in."

George grinned back. Suddenly everything was all right again.


	6. Chapter 6

The common room on the first night was packed with Gryffindors, and the occasional Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Small clusters of older students hunched over books and parchment, running ink-stained hands through their hair in frustration. Others chatted and gossipped with friends, adding to the jumble of noise. On the low table in the middle, two girls leaned over a chessboard. A large barn owl swooped around the room and screeched dementedly.

"You put a bowtruckle in his bed?!"

The portrait door opened and a throughly dishevelled Branwen ap Caddoc climbed in. A chorus of disgust arose at her entrance.

"Oh, that's foul!"

"What have you been _doing_?"

"Must – not – breathe – "

"I'm dying!"

"Don't blame me. It was that bloody poltergeist," snapped Branwen, "he thought it would be funny to drop a dozen Dungbombs down the stairs."

"Please go away. I'm drowning in your stink."

"Well, I had to walk all the way up from the Latin corridor. If anyone's in the shower, I'm kicking them out."

Two parchment planes launched themselves into the air and began fighting each other. In the corner by the fireplace, a rather overweight girl was enchanting her textbooks to grow legs. One escaped and hid under the chess table, flapping its cover rudely at her.

Lee had gone outside after tea to drag a pair of robes through the mud, and was now crouched in a corner, casting _Scourgify_ repeatedly. Twice he'd sprayed dirt at the group playing cards next to him, but the robes stayed stubbornly clean.

"Hey, Weasley! Proulx says you're Quidditch captain! Is that true, or is he winding us up?"

"Yeah, McGonagall told me at lunch. I'm pretty chuffed."

"Well _done_, mate! See, I knew they'd forget all about it."

"She gave me a good long lecture. Responsibilities and all. I don't think she's forgiven me, yet."

"Oh, come on, Charlie!" exclaimed Edit, a sixth-year Beater. "Why else would she have appointed you?"

"Well, it's Quidditch, not a prefectship..."

"Same thing, for her. Anyway, McGonagall's fair, she'll give you a chance."

"I think this calls for a celebration. Tammy, go get that firewhiskey you snuck in."

The enchanted planes had caught the attention of the owl, who hunched on the back of a chair, ready to spring at them. Recognizing a common enemy, the two planes turned and swooped at the bird.

As they came nearer, the owl pounced and crushed one between its talons. It dropped the wriggling paper to the ground and chased the other one up the staircase.

"Knight to E5. No, wait...damn!"

"Rook to E5." _Crack!_

A roar of laughter sounded from the far corner. Professor McGonagall climbed onto a table and stood with her hands on hips. "Gudgeon! Sallow! Two hundred points from Gryffindor for snogging behind the fairy statue! And Penberthy, was that you who let that tomcat out...he was a nice-looking fellow – " She slipped and fell sideways, cracking her head on the corner of the table. "Shite! Ow, that hurts!"

Two cats began aggressively mating behind an armchair. A third cat clawed up the chair leg and wailed. The card-players sitting nearby tried not to look at them.

"Y'know, this game is getting boring. I'm too used to these tame explosions. Let's add another pack."

"Let's add _two_ packs."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course it isn't. Here we go – your turn to shuffle, Amber."

A group hovered over a sleeping friend, murmuring softly. His nose shortened into a snout, a beard grew from his chin, and a large hairy mole sprouted in the middle of his forehead.

"And she told me I had the makings of a true seer..." A pause. "Don't laugh!"

Someone turned on the wireless.

_Eglė; Eglė; rasti gyvatė_

_midnight promises in a faithless tongue_

_broken by day_

"..._two_ alphabets to learn by Friday! Is there such thing as a Cleverness Potion?"

"It's pretty stupid. My brother studies ancient languages, and he says you should never learn two similar ones at once. They'll get muddled up."

"Well, _she_ never got that owl. Maybe if we spent two days on each?"

"Or a charm. There's Cheering Charms, why not Cleverness Charms? _Some_ of us aren't geniuses. I'm going on strike."

"Striking on the first day of classes? Tut, tut, little children, what on earth will you do when you have OWLS?"

"Piss off, Zmeskal."

A loud explosion made everybody jump. A small fireball shot upwards, scattering sparks.

"_Excellent!"_

"Shall we add another?"

The seventh-years were becoming rather tipsy. Edit sprawled in Charlie's lap while he played with her hair.

"Here's to Charlie and beating the Slytherins!"

"Hear, hear!" Glass clinked.

"How'd you get this past Filch, Tammy?"

"Transfigured the bottles to look like hairspray cans. He barely looked at them."

"The perils of being a Squib. It just doesn't occur to 'em!"

_BOOM._ Screams erupted.

"Put it out! Put it out!"

"_Aguamenti!_"

"Help! My hair! _Ow!_"

"Stop running! Someone catch her!" A body on fire hurtled for the portrait hole. "Amber! _Stop!_"

"Stop, drop and roll!" shrieked a first-year.

A prefect dove for the panicking girl and held her down. "_Undiĝu_." A wave of water gushed from his wand, drenching her. She sat up, shaking.

"Thanks."

"I'll take you to Pomfrey. You'll need something for those burns. Come on."

"That," remarked someone, as the pair exited, "was _not _a good idea."

"Three was all right, though."

"What does _stop, drop and hole_ mean?"

"It's a Muggle thing. I'm off to bed. Let the elves sort this mess out."


End file.
